


beneath the winter snow

by quidditches



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cedric Diggory Lives, Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter was Raised by Sirius Black, M/M, Nightmares, Surprises, cedric graduated and harry's sad about it, cedric plays pro quidditch for pride of portree, i love the boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 22:19:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13599597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidditches/pseuds/quidditches
Summary: Everything's so much harder when Cedric's not around.Or, Cedric and Sirius have a surprise up their sleeves.





	beneath the winter snow

**Author's Note:**

> i originally wrote this for a friend, but liked it too much not to share with all of you!
> 
> some backstory on the au: harry was raised by sirius, harry & cedric have been dating for two years, cedric graduated and plays quidditch for pride of portree now, & harry just wants to HURRY THE FUCK UP and graduate already (big ol' mood right there)
> 
> title is from winter song by ingrid michaelson & sara bareilles :^)

Harry wasn't _moping_ . But he _had_ been sitting in the same spot all day, feet tucked beneath him, staring off into space. Occasionally, Sirius would come in to offer him a cup of tea, or maybe a snack, or even just someone to talk to, but Harry had taken to just shrugging him off and dismissing him with a disgruntled sigh. He was sad, and he ached with a terrible loneliness, but he didn't think he was moping. If he was really moping, then he wouldn't have showered, or eaten breakfast, or-- alright, so, maybe he was moping.

But he was _allowed_ to mope. Every second he spent melting right into the couch, letting the ache in his chest consume him and drain his will to ever get up again, was a second he deserved the right to sit there and let it happen. The school year had been difficult enough without Cedric around, but it was a manageable kind of difficult. The consistency of having something to focus on and knowing Cedric was working somehow dulled the ache most of the time. Sitting here now, with nothing to do but stare at the wall and will the time to pass faster, he realized it was likely the constant distraction that made it feel at all bearable.

Winter break was dragging by, pulling a reluctant Harry with it. He had encountered things in his life that would make a weaker man tremble at the thought, but as he searched himself, he couldn't recall a time he ever felt this _down_. It was as if someone had drained all of the blood in his body and replaced it with molasses, dark and sticky, making his limbs feel impossibly heavy and his head empty. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to hide away from the world, within the warm sanctuary provided by the covers, and sleep the whole entire break away.

Only, he couldn't even find solace in sleep. The nights were cold and long and even the three thick blankets he slept under could not stop the shivers from ripping up his spine. He reckoned it was at least partly a mental thing, because the house -- despite how huge and frigid it might have seemed -- genuinely didn't feel that cold, but that knowledge didn't warm him up any. The shivers kept him awake and when he was able to fall asleep, it was always a futile effort and never lasted for more than a few shaky hours at a time.

The dreams were another thing entirely. In the uncomfortable, short hours of sleep he was able to get, the backs of his eyelids were painted with the same surreal scene.

He would be back at school, studying in his room or the Gryffindor common room, and the door would swing open. Cedric appeared in the doorway, grin lighting up his face, and he would put a finger to his lips, signaling that his arrival was a secret. The familiar feeling of excitement would fill Harry's stomach and he would get up to hug him, to hold him, to _touch him_ , but as soon as his fingers would come in contact with Cedric's skin, the boy would disappear without a trace, like he was never even there to begin with. As if he was made of sand, and Harry’s touch made him crumble into oblivion. He would wake up in a cold sweat, feeling lost and afraid. A cold sweat would grip his body and force him to relive to the memory until another bout of uneasy rest would take him.

There was only one other dream he would have. It wasn't as frequent as the first one, but it was the most pervasive, like an unwanted guest he simply couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried. It always began the exact same way: he would be watching Cedric play Quidditch. It's never clear what team he’s playing, and the surroundings always feel somewhat off-kilter -- like a mosaic, or a painting Harry couldn’t quite interpret -- but in the moment, he never cares or really seems to notice much at all. The only thing that matters is that he's there, watching Cedric play, relishing in the artificial closeness that comes with merely sharing a space. He wears a purple jumper, Pride of Portree imagery emblazoned across the front, and his own cheers melt in with the sound around him, as if it were all one booming voice.

But the sky grows darker, and Harry's the only one who can see it. He stands, a great feeling of helplessness building in his chest, as the darkness begins to envelop the pitch. Massive, swirling black figures emerge from the darkness and swarm Cedric. They're like Dementors, Harry thinks, but not quite the same. He isn't sure what they are, but he's sure of one thing: they carry a darkness well beyond the scope of what any known wizard could counter. He watches, a silent scream tearing from his mouth, as Cedric is knocked clean off his broom. He loses control, and he's falling. He's falling, he's falling, he's _falling._ He's falling faster, vicious black streaks chasing after his body.

Harry tries to scream again, but no sound comes out. Cedric's body connects with the ground with a sickening _thud_ and is completely engulfed by the black figures. Harry tries to move, tries to run, tries to do _something_ , **anything** , but he's frozen in place. The world turns to sickening chaos around him, people running everywhere, screaming, panicking, but he's forced to stay still and watch in horror as his boyfriend's body is absolutely destroyed right there, on the pitch, in plain view.

He wakes up, body wracked by fits of hyperventilation and dry sobs. Keeping the noise quiet, especially in stark contrast with the stillness of the night, is next to impossible, and more often than night, he fails. The noise is usually enough to rouse Sirius, who, as a rule, is nonjudgemental, and will wait by his side, hand steady in the circles he rubs into his godson's back, until Harry exhausts himself again. The nights he's lucky enough to keep it silent are far worse, when he's left to ride out the panic alone. The fact the Quidditch dream is rare is a gift, because the default dream is manageable, but the Quidditch dream is positively debilitating.

It's Christmas Eve and Harry's just woken up from a rare dreamless sleep. It was no less restless than any other night, but he felt relieved to have escaped any sort of unconscious horrors during the night. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up in his bed until he begins to hear Sirius stirring in the kitchen. It's a sure sign he should be getting up and moving, since breakfast will be ready, but he can't quite bring himself to move just yet. The idea of starting yet another dull, seemingly never-ending day just seemed a bit too taxing for his morning brain.

His mind quickly began to change when he thought he heard a muffled voice echoing up the stairwell. " _Strange_ ," he thought to himself, finally summoning the will to swing his legs over the edge of his bed. He didn't think Sirius was one to talk to himself like that, especially not loud enough for Harry to hear it all the way up in his bedroom. He had to investigate.

Despite Sirius's clear and well-documented disdain for 12 Grimmauld Place, he had done a commendable job -- all things considered -- fixing up the place after Harry was placed into his custody. What once felt like a prison to a teenager disenfranchised and lost was now home, whether Sirius liked it or not. Perhaps a bit too roomy for merely the two of them, but it was home regardless. It was a funny effect, really. Raising Harry in the house, watching him discover the world around him, and giving him the love and attention he so desperately craved as a child really cast the house in a different light and some days, whether or not he would ever admit it out loud and put the thought into the universe, he could even feel it growing on him.

Harry padded down the stairs, socked feet making his presence virtually unknown. As he got closer and closer to the ground floor, the voice -- _voices?_ \-- got clearer. He furrowed his brow. He'd been too wrapped up in the idea of Sirius finally losing it and just fully talking to himself  this early in the morning that he hadn't even considered the idea of Sirius having a visitor. It just didn't make sense. It couldn't be past 8am. Harry, personally, couldn't be arsed to hang out with anyone that early and he reckoned no one Sirius hangs out with would be, either. He couldn’t have even made enough coffee to consider starting the day yet, let alone enough to spend time with someone. The revelation just made the situation all the more perplexing.

He was on a mission now. Finally reaching the ground floor, he crept silently down the hallway to the source of the sound: the kitchen. He kept his distance, staying by the doorway but a little bit away so he couldn't be seen. He cursed himself for not bringing his Invisibility Cloak with him, although he hadn't known he would be going on a spy mission when he first left his bed. Quietly, he leaned his head against the wall to try and get a better idea of what was going on.

"--not exactly perfect, but our breaks line up decently enough. I felt bad not telling him, but I figured the surprise would be better."

"He'll be ecstatic. You'd hate to see the state he's been in lately, but I'm thinking this will cheer him right up."

"I hope so. Thank you for helping me keep the secret, by the way."

"Not a prob--"

Harry moved his head away from the wall, puzzled. That couldn't be right. It sounded like-- It sounded like Sirius was talking to Cedric in the kitchen. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. If this was a new dream, Harry didn't know if he could handle a new addition to the rotation. It didn't feel like a dream, though. Everything around him was as it should be. There was no precarious imbalance in the fabric of reality, no tell-tale sign that something just wasn't right. Nothing.

He took an uncertain step forward, closer to the doorway. There was really no point in hiding now, especially since the only other option was to just go right back up to his bedroom. Besides, he did want breakfast. Taking a moment to brace himself for the disappointment he anticipated to feel when he enters the kitchen, only to find Sirius by himself, he took a deep breath before poking his head around the corner.

Out of everything he prepared himself to see, the image of Cedric sitting on the countertop, mug of tea in hand, wasn't something that ever crossed his mind but here it was, right in front of him. A bright smile crossed Cedric’s face as he set the mug down, hopping down off the counter to greet Harry.

He hadn't even realized he had frozen like a deer in the headlights until Cedric made the first move, pulling him into an embrace. Their height difference allowed for the taller boy to tuck Harry's head neatly until his chin, a contented sigh leaving his body.

"Hi," Cedric said, softly, into Harry's messy hair. "Missed you."

Harry couldn't even make a coherent string of words in his brain. It felt foreign, being the one who always had something to say with a head full of boggled, indecipherable thoughts. Cedric didn't seem to mind, or maybe he just _understood_ , and he simply held him until he had to let go because breakfast was ready.

Maybe it was the excitement of being together again, or the whirlwind of breakfast table conversation, but it seemed as though as soon as they sat down at the table, time lurched forward and they were getting up, clearing plates and mumbling excuses to Sirius before clambering up the stairs back up to Harry's room.

Once the door shut behind them, Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. There was something supremely comforting about simply being alone with Cedric, away from prying eyes and tedious responsibilities. It was like a form of magic in and of itself, the way being anywhere with Cedric could feel like home. It wouldn't have mattered if they were on death's doorstep together; as long as they were side by side, it was safe, it was warm, and it was right.

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, and Cedric followed suit. He looked exhausted, Harry couldn't help but notice.

"You can nap, if you'd like," he offered, flashing the other a sympathetic look. He knew the toll all of the training and travelling for Quidditch was taking on Cedric and was all too aware of how short their time together would be -- only two weeks.

"But that's such a waste," Cedric huffed, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I know there's probably a thousand things you'd rather be doing than watching me sleep."

Harry frowned, hand reaching out to rest on Cedric's. He rubbed it gently with his thumb, hoping by some cosmic force Cedric would understand he didn't mind in the slightest.

"You've earned it, you know."

Cedric sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "Wouldn't you rather do something else?"

"You look like you haven't slept in a week," Harry stated simply before he laid down, shifting his position to make room for Cedric to follow suit. "You must be so exhausted."

Cedric couldn't deny the fact and that much was obvious, judging by how quickly he bended to Harry's will and laid down beside him, lazily draping an arm over the boy.

"I am," he said, quietly. “This feels like old times.”

Harry merely hummed, grateful for the closeness. Cedric was right. It was something he found himself thinking about a lot and one of the contributing factors to the constant ache in his chest. Before Cedric graduated, they would spend nearly every night together. Sneaking into each other's dorms became habit and every night spent separate, which were so rare the first summer they spent apart was nearly debilitating, was torturous. They had been forced to adapt after Cedric left Hogwarts and no matter how much easier it started to feel with the passing of the time, a half-empty bed was still a half-empty bed: cold, lonely, and isolating.

It only took a few minutes of Harry rubbing Cedric's side and speaking to him in a soft, soothing voice before Cedric nodded off. Cedric should have been right; this should have been a waste. He should have felt restless at the thought of them missing out on time together, but he didn't. Being able to lay here, feeling the warmth of his lover's body, was the furthest thing from a waste.

Cedric's nap also presented him with a unique opportunity to reflect in a moment of rare serenity and stillness. Although Cedric had only been out of school for barely even half a year, despite it feeling like an eternity, he seemed far older now than he did six months ago. Harry reckoned it was a mix of the hard work Cedric had been doing with the team in Portree along with the immersion into the real world outside of the bubble at Hogwarts, but there seemed to be something beyond that.

It seemed like Cedric had finally found his place. His final two years at Hogwarts had been consumed by Quidditch -- whether it was practicing, being scouted, the constant anxiety that came with the process, the stress of being recruited -- and he always seemed so unstable. Add being chosen as Head Boy in 7th year, and Cedric was practically a human hurricane, seconds away from crumbling into total disaster at any given moment. He handled it well -- far better than Harry himself would’ve -- but Harry wasn’t oblivious to the way his face fell when he thought no one was looking, or the way his hands would tremble when the stressors began to pile.

The storm began to subside as soon as he signed with Portree -- Harry remembers that day clearly, too. He'd seen the way Cedric looked like he'd very nearly cry upon getting the news they wanted him to play for them, and getting to finally _sign_ and have a clear idea of what his future was going to look like was the happiest Harry had ever seen him. -- and now, he finally seemed to be at peace. Exhaustion hung heavy on his bones like the world's worst blanket, but Harry could tell he wouldn't rather be doing anything else. And, God, he was so _happy_ for him, but that didn't make the crippling loneliness in his chest any easier to swallow.

Cedric slept for several hours before he began to stir, bright afternoon sun streaming in through the window and illuminating his face. Seeing him well-rested was enough for Harry to overlook the fact Cedric had trapped him under the weight of his arm for the duration of his nap. It wasn't as if he couldn't move, but more like he didn't have the heart to do it.

As his eyes fluttered open, Harry pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, followed up by a nearly-inaudible, "Welcome back."

Cedric stretched his arms and yawned before returning the kiss with a hum. "Love you," he said, pushing himself upright onto his elbows. It was another minute before he fully joined them again in the land of the living. "Hey, I've got something for you. Early present, I suppose."

Harry made room for him as he sat up and crawled out of bed to dig through his brown, leather bag. He watched him search, a smile tugging on his face when Cedric jolted upright, present in hands.

The older boy returned to his spot in bed, calloused hands offering a medium-sized box wrapped in plain brown paper to him.

Cedric began to speak as Harry's nimble fingers carefully undid the wrapping. "I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I figured you've waited long enough. Besides, I got you something else as well, and--"

He was cut off by the sound of Harry finally getting the paper off, removing the lid of the box, and revealing a small, shiny mirror.

"A mirror?" he asked, glancing up at Cedric, "I'm flattered you think I'm handsome enough to need one so I can look at myself all day, but--"

"Not just any mirror," Cedric nudged, an excited grin crossing his face. "A two-way mirror! So we can see each other! I've got the other one. Sirius said he and your father used to use them to talk to each other in detention, and I just thought--"

Harry grinned and leaned forward, cutting Cedric's spiel off with an embrace. "I love it. I love you."

Cedric kissed his forehead before resting his chin on Harry's shoulder, a contented sigh falling from his lips.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."


End file.
